


more of a personal statement

by orphan_account



Category: Atomic Blonde (2017), James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Co-workers, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Old Age, One Night Stands, Quickies, Sex, Spies & Secret Agents, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 03:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12224556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: An exchange of dangers





	more of a personal statement

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline is obviously fucked. An older Lorraine, and a slightly younger Q, but under the assumption he has already found his way to the Quartermaster position. This was fun to write. I might do a second bit with Lorraine as the new M, if anyone wants it.

He’s younger than she normally finds worth the effort, but something in the neat wrinkles of his sweater, the academic calm of his dark eyes draws her in. Thin like a poet. Brown eyes, brown curls - he’s certainly her type. His gaze meets hers across the park. She looks away first.

She’d always had a type. That’d be what got her killed, she was sure.

“They send the intern?” She asks, lifting her cigarette. He takes the jibe for what it is, a shakedown, with just a curl of his lips. More experienced than he looked then, used to working with assholes like herself. This job didn’t leave a lot of room to be _nice_.

“I could ask the same of you. _Miss_.” He says pointedly, voice a crisp, inked page. She hopes she takes the cut half as gracefully as he did, but some satisfaction in his eyes suggests she’s failed. Lorraine does hate being old. “Are you sure you should be here alone?”

“Oh, shut up.” She tells him, irritable. He was much more attractive before he’d spoke, but he just smiles at her for second. Bites his lip. “Have you read the paper today?”

“Have I?” He muses, and smiles as well at the sudden stilling of her face, while Lorraine waits for him to confirm he is her contact.

Otherwise, he is about to die.

“I have not. I read it yesterday.”

Her body relaxes in parts, and she’s really scowling at him now. Another second, and she might’ve screwed the whole exchange.

“Take today’s.” She tells him brusquely, passing him the packet. “You bastard.”

He looks suitably chastened, his smile tamping in at the edges. He watches her retrieve her cigarette case from her pocket, place one between her fingers. Her sharp heels bite into the grass, her toes barely balanced on the edge of the walk. She still has a whole night ahead of her in this city, as no one but herself.

And he was clearly unbothered by the rearrangement of MI-6 protocol.

Or he was a spy.

_‘Fuck it.’_ Lorraine thinks, flicking her butt to land beside her heel, crunching it out along the cement.

“You busy later?” She asks him.

__

He is a bad kisser, but improving.

Soft lips, full under her own, and when he presses up into her mouth Lorraine digs her knees in, and rides him back down into the mattress. He’s slimmer than he looked in his sweater, his neat starched collar. _‘Q’_ He’d told her, arms lifting as she’d stripped him, flat on his back. Now, he blinks up at her owlishly, mouth loose and used.

She should have left his glasses on but they always got in the way.

“Lorraine.” He says, and the use of her name is like ice water down her back, even though she’d given it to him. She tells herself she’s bored of his appreciation at her body, that’s why she slips her mouth back over his, kissing him quiet under her.

She didn’t need his smart mouth, speaking his quick thoughts. Lorraine had plenty of dark-eyed, dark-haired ghosts haunting her already. She pulls his hands up, and Q’s long fingers peel her from her blouse, dissecting her layers. He thumbs her nipples, pulling at her, curious. Clever.

“Cute.” She tells him, and he frowns at her.

Her hands go to his belt, and he shivers when she brushes past his belly button. His cock is cute too, fat and a little wet just at the head. Swollen and dark in her palm. He shudders when she takes him in hand, mouth open. Eyes squeezed closed. She should take her time with him, she doubts anyone has.

She doesn’t want to see his face for this.

Lorraine sits up, dropping his pretty prick to lay along his belly, his sharp hip bones. Swings a leg over him.

_'It’s better this way'_ , Lorraine thinks. Now he’s getting a free show, and she’s getting what she’d wanted him for in the first place. When she’d first seen those shy, smart eyes.

“Condom?” He asks her, but his hands have settled on her hips, gripping her like he’s riding double on her motorbike. Lorraine kneels up. Looks over her shoulder through the haze of blonde hair across her eyes.

“You’ve checked my file, haven’t you?” She asks, coolly. She had survived the eighties without catching anything worse than the flu. “ _Quartermaster_?”

He laughs, a single, sharp chuff and shit, even if Lorraine can’t see him, she’s still starting to like him. Better to get what she came for.

His cock slides into her slow. She does this less than she used to - used to be so eager for the next hit, next kiss, next punch. Just wanted to feel the world sting as it connected. Now the aches in her muscles take longer and longer to forget.

She hurts more than she wants, most nights.

Not this night. Lorraine works her hips in small circles over MI-6‘s finest, her body accepting him slowly. Aside from the occasional shift of his hips, he seems content to let her set the pace. Smart boy.

She’s starting to get wet, her body reading her intentions like an engine warming. Her finger settles over her clit.

“You feel...” He breathes, and Lorraine likes the way his hands tighten on her hips. Her first orgasm is rising in her belly steady, practiced, despite the trembling in her calves. She wonders if she can go twice, before he does. “ _Lorraine_...”

She doesn’t have to look at his face to see it. Blown, black-brown eyes, pink lips wide in a sweet face. She’s brought it home more times than she should’ve, only to press the gasping ghost flat into her pillows.

Breathless.

She doesn’t want to think about that. She really just wanted to come, but the black thoughts circling in her tired, useless head are pushing it farther and farther away. Her hips have slowed, and he’s sitting her up, sliding out of her, one hand gripping the base of his cock.

“Let me.” He says, polite now. Maybe he thinks she tired. That she’s old. She is. Survived the eighties, and the nineties and unto eternity. She would survive even his gentle hands, moving her body like it needed a soft touch.

“God, you are lovely.” He laughs, rueful. His cock kisses her stretched cunt. “Sorry. You know that.”

Lorraine smiles into her arm.

He starts even slower than she had, hips working in steady pushes, widening her body, squeezing her open until she begins to drip. To sweat, and his body hastens into hers, more and more urgently.

She drops her chest to the bed, and Q groans, surging into her. He’s hitting her deeply now, his knees knocking the backs of hers, and it’s hard to meet his irregular, speeding thrusts and stroke her clit simultaneously. Hard to keep this anonymous hotel fuck separate from every other she’s had.

She comes easy enough though, her body convulsing around him. He stills behind her, hands biting into her bottom while Lorraine quivers and breathes and for a single second forgets everything.

Every _shitty_ thing.

When he moves as though to continue though, she stops him.

“I want see you.” She admits. Face down still, but she’s sure he’s pleased.

__

“Have you read today’s paper?” Q asks James, more out of habit than anything else. They’re alone in the museum.

“I have not.” James says slowly, circling Q, like he was newly installed exhibit. His shoes squeak on the floor, his eyes trained on his scowling Quartermaster. “Do you know you have a love bite?”

“Shocking, the talent in British Intelligence.” Q tells him. “Now, take your damn paper.”

**Author's Note:**

> Cocksucker? [_Really?_](http://honeyedlion.tumblr.com/)


End file.
